It's in case I should
by happydemonhobo
Summary: well...you know.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hardcastle  & McCormick, the characters belong to their creators and such.

 **Author's Note:** Takes place early in the partnership, I'd say within the first few months, before the episode _Goin' Nowhere Fast_. (See end of story for more…)

 **Summary:** (It's in case I should…) Well, you know…

 **Rated:** K

 **It's in case I should…well, you know…**

Former Judge Milton C. Hardcastle looked up from his seemingly never ending paperwork (which seemed to have only grown since he retired) to voices coming down the hall towards the study.

"Mark, you should still be resting." He heard his housekeeper Sarah say sternly.

"Sarah", he heard his parole Mark McCormick sigh. "I'm fine, it's not that bad…besides, it's been two days."

They had apparently stopped, but he still heard Mark's voice speak softly, trying to sooth her worry. "Sarah, I'm fine…really. It's just a scratch." At this point Hardcastle could just imagine his housekeeper's face, looking stoic about the description of the wound he'd received two days ago while chasing some bad guy through an abandoned junkyard. Though knowing the woman had been, and was still, worrying about the young man she had come to care for over the past several months. Neither one of them had told her what the doctor had said, if the knife would have went a half inch or so deeper and to the side, it would have cut a main artery, which could have led to McCormick bleeding out within minutes.

The case had been a simple one, or so they'd hope. Lieutenant Kelly Carlton had stopped by five days ago to ask for some outside help in a case, a chopping-spree, he'd been working on. After some investigating, he found some evidence that it was being ran along with the tow-truck company the LAPD had a contract with towing evidence cars. Finally coming up with a name, Hank Fulton, aka 'Hank the Shank'.

Hardcastle had heard of the crook, the man had never been in Hardcastle's courtroom, but knew Judge Gault had given the man a light sentence of only 18 months in jail for his previous crimes. Fulton was out in 10 for 'good-behavior'. Fulton then picked up right where he left off. Hardcastle thought if he had sentenced Fulton, the man would still be in jail and if he had a say so this time, which he sure as hell was, the guy would be going away for a longtime.

It hadn't taken long for former ex-con Mark McCormick to get himself in on the action. After talking to someone, who knew someone, who had been in jail with McCormick, who just so happened to have heard rumors about a chopping-scheme. Sure enough, a day or so later, they found themselves hiding in an abandoned junkyard, where the cars were being hidden among the remaining junk. In true form, the bad guys showed up, they and the cops moved in. Some chasing took place and when it was all over, all the bad guys were in handcuffs being led to cars, leaving McCormick laying on the ground with a stab wound in his right thigh. When he'd went to tackle Fulton, 'Hank the Shank' had turned around holding a knife, managing to stab him, but after some struggling, McCormick still managed to get a good punch in and knock him down just as a cop showed up to help.

Refusing an ambulance, Mark finally allowed Hardcastle to take him to the emergency room. What seemed to take forever, finally boiled down to 20 stitches, a bottle of antibodies, pain meds and orders to rest, avoid stairs, etc., etc.

"Is he in?" Mark's voice asked.

"He's in the study." Sarah replied, "I'm assuming since you're up and walking, you'll be joining us at the dinner table?"

"Sure…I mean, yes." Mark answered. "And Sarah…" He called out louder, she had apparently been walking away. "Thank you."

Mark watched as Sarah just gave a frim nod of understanding before disappearing back towards the kitchen. She had acted like it was a nuisance to bring over his meals, but knowing deep down she had been worried, for the meals had been all his favorites. He could still see the look on her face, though it had only been there a second, of worry/fear as Hardcastle helped him into the house and onto the study's couch. Refusing to stay in the main house, Mark finally won by saying he'd sleep on the fold out cot in the guest house. Sarah had followed them over to make sure he'd have everything he needed from the upstairs bedroom, commenting that at least the bathroom was on the first floor. She had then proceeded to come over every few hours to 'check on him' saying it wouldn't look good for the Judge if he were to relapse and they hadn't noticed.

The next full day when he was doing much better, just sore and bruised, not likely to relapse, Sarah made the excuse to make sure he had food, snacks, was taking his meds and drinking plenty of fluids. She even went so far as to buy him a few books and racing magazines when she went shopping, saying she had just been looking and thought he would like them. One time she came over saying 'His Honor' had asked her to bring a file over a.s.a.p. for him to look at. Now that one he could believe, the Judge had been making an appearance in between Sarah's, though not as many, trying to yell at him about the chores, though not making it remotely believable, complaining the list of chores was doubling, how he needed to hurry up and get better before the grounds turned into a jungle and the pool into a swamp.

Mark would then proceed to get up, saying he was fine and ready to go, though struggling and wincing, some on purpose, milking the worry on ol' Hardcase's face. The older man would huff, and say, "fine, one more day, that's it…I'm not goin' to hire someone to do the work when I have someone." He would grumble some more before making an excuse to leave, only to come back that evening and say it all again.

It felt good to be cared for.

"You should be resting." Hardcastle said when Mark appeared at the door, though not looking up.

"Is there a parrot in here?" Mark joked, slowly stepping down the steps.

Looking up with annoyance, Hardcastle watched as the young man made his way over to the desk, then slowly sit in one of the wingback chairs across from it, noticing he shifted to put more weight on his left side.

Going back to sorting papers, Hardcastle waited for Mark to speak, but when he didn't, he looked up to see Mark holding and looking at a business size envelope in his hands. It appeared to be wrinkled and yellow, like it had been folded multiple times and stored for a long period of time.

"Don't let the hamster overdo it'", he finally said.

Mark's head shot up. "Huh?" was his answer back.

Hardcastle collapsed back in his chair with a huff, "I'm assuming you didn't waddle all the way over here for a change of scenery."

Mark continued to study the envelope in his hands, turning it over and over. "I, huh, I was wondering if you could do something for me?" He finally asked softly.

"You know I won't say yes until I know what it is you want." Hardcastle reminded him as he sat back up, folding his arms on the desk, curious about what the young man was going to ask.

Hardcastle's curiosity only grew as he watched Mark become really nervous, shifting in his chair, only to wince in pain. "Could…I wanted…" He stammered out trying to cover a gasp.

"Oh for cryin' out loud", the Judge said, standing up. "Voirdire."

Mark's head shot up, again, "Gesundheit."

"No, no, no." Hardcastle puffed out, coming around the desk, leaning against the front of it and crossing his arms with impatience. "It's a legal term, it means 'speak the truth'."

Moving to stand, Mark said, "Just forget it, it's nothing, sorry to bother you."

"SIT!"

Mark sat back down with a sigh, though to Hardcastle it looked more like a wince. "I wanted to know if you'd put this somewhere safe for me. It doesn't need to go into the safe, but could you like…I don't know, lock it with my file or something."

"What is it?"

Mark sigh again. "It's nothing really important, just something I forgot about until I finally went through the box of stuff Barbara dropped off." He'd been bored the past couple of days, actually missing the chores. Though more than likely, he'd ignore the box because he didn't want to remember. Staring at the envelope as he talked, he added mumbling. "I didn't think I had any left."

"I'm not going to be responsible for something without knowing what it is." Hardcastle said moving to sit in the chair next to Mark.

"I guess trusting me is out?" Mark smirked, finally looking up.

Leaning forward and clasping his hands, placing his elbows on his knees to be even closer to the young man, the Judge shook his head. "Sorry kiddo, but you know I can't hold onto something that could incriminate you or someone…"

"It's a note and some money…it's in case I should…well, you know." Mark told him softly, turning his head away as he tried not to blush.

"Now wait just a minute…" Hardcastle said, startled.

"When I was younger", Mark started, cutting him off, but still not looking at him. "After mom died, I went to live with my mom's brother. Let's just say at that time I didn't care if I lived or died or whatever." He smirked, "and I finally understood the soap."

As he'd been talking, Hardcastle sat back, trying to look less intimidating, it was rare for the young man to talk about his past.

"By the time I was fifteen", Mark continued. "I decided to run away. Living on the streets I knew that if I died, I hoped at least the county, or state, would bury me, even if it was just an unmarked grave."

"Mark." Hardcastle said softly, he didn't need to hear anymore.

Mark held up the hand with the envelope, looking at it. "When I met Flip and started driving for him, I was still just a reckless kid. Spending my winnings as fast as I made them. I didn't know about all the costs of running a race car or a business for that matter." He began tapping the envelope against his left thigh, lost in thoughts. "Then I finally did something stupid and got into an accident, I was okay, busted a few ribs and such, but totaled the car. A few days later I overheard Flip on the phone talking about paying the hospital bills and trying to find a way to get the money to replace the car."

His voice trailed off as he seemed to be remembering. Flip had been obviously too proud and stubborn to ask Mark for his part of the winnings, letting him have it and spend it. Only after his death did he learn that Flip had been in debt from the start. When Mark began winning a few races, it had allowed Flip to 'catch-up', but never get ahead. If he'd had known, he would have let Flip keep the money, telling him to invest it for him or something. Barbara had won big after Cody's arrest and though she'd offered actual money, to him, the car was more than enough. He wanted her to keep the money, to cover Flip's funeral and go to school out east.

Hardcastle sat patiently waiting, not wanting to risk interrupting.

"Anyways." Mark finally continued, chuckling. "I was old enough then to finally realize that I was never going to be the secret heir to The McCormick Spice fortune, so I started putting money away in the event of…" his voice became soft again. "I finally got Barbara to tell me Flip couldn't afford a life insurance policy on me, thus if I died, there would be no money for medical expenses… a funeral."

"Mark." Hardcastle said again, this could end now, he completely understood, or so he thought.

Either not hearing him or ignoring him, he didn't know which, Mark went on.

"I'd completely forgot about it when I went to jail, since I had to fill out paperwork stating what I wanted done if I were to die while incarcerated. I didn't want to put something like that on Flip so…" Looking up at the ceiling, Mark let out a fake, barked, laugh. "I told them to cremate me and feed me to the grass in the prison's graveyard, just don't blame me if the grass died."

Just as Hardcastle was about to say enough, Mark continued. "I found this this morning, there's more here than I thought…I've had to dig into it so many times…it's not much, but I will keep adding to it."

"You don't need to worry about it kid." Hardcastle said, getting up and going back around to sit behind the desk.

"Judge", Mark said leaning forward to place the envelope on the desk. "You already pay for the car, the hospital…I'm not going to leave you with fun…" _'And besides, you've already made it clear, I'm not a_ _substitute.'_ He wanted to add, but was glad he didn't get the chance.

"ENOUGH!" Hardcastle finally bellowed then softened. "Nothin' gonna happen to you and if…"

"You don't know that." Mark replied softly knowing the Judge had no idea how far he was willing to go to protect him, or others, when he'd agreed to play Tonto in the deal they'd made.

True, Hardcastle had been thinking, knowing McCormick was taking his role seriously. The young man was already so different than the others he'd had here. In these few short months, he'd learned Mark was loyal, kept his word and meant what he said, was rather smart, conning and reliably resourceful. He was enjoying the banter they did, not to mention the kid could hold his own on the basketball court. So the polar opposite of J.J. Beal. Besides, who knew of a car thief pulling over, in the stolen car, to rescue the police officer chasing him from his wrecked car?

Sure, McCormick would complain about the chores, but when it came down to it, he always did them and if he didn't know how, or exactly what needed to be done, he'd ask, usually Sarah. He never wanted, nor would he ever plan for the kid to take a bullet for him, but McCormick didn't need to know that, yet. It hasn't been six months, but at the way things were going, his gut finally felt right on this one and his gut kept on being right the more he got to know one Mark McCormick.

"Fine." The older man finally huffed taking the envelope with one hand and fishing out keys with the other. Unlocking the drawer where he kept Mark's file, he dropped the padded paper in then slammed the drawer closed, locking it again. He'd move it to the safe later.

Thinking that was the end of the discussion, the Judge went back to the papers on his desk, but when Mark didn't leave, he looked up and asked. "Was there something else goin' on in that curly headed head of yours?"

Now that he didn't have the envelope to play with, Mark began picking at a string on his sweat pants. "Do you want to know what I want done…now…in case I should…?"

Hardcastle laid down the paper and gave his complete attention to the man sitting across from him. He didn't know what had gotten into the kid's head, though this time he had to agree it had been a close one. Which may be why McCormick felt he needed to get this off his chest now, especially after finding the envelope. But whatever it was, he would listen.

Looking up to see the older man looking at him, Mark began. "Before I went to prison, the first time, I'd been able to do some research on where my mother's grave may be. When she died, the authorities could only find a contact for her brother, the uncle I ended up living with for a while. I found out later, from my aunt, after realizing we never did go to the funeral, or ever mention her for that matter, that he had told the coroner he wasn't claiming the body….so the county buried her in a pauper's grave…though she couldn't tell me which cemetery. I've been looking at maps and making phone calls over the years, but with unmarked graves, there's usually no records kept except that a body is buried there, tagged with a number. I've been trying to get a copy of her death certificate, thinking the number may be on it, but you know the red tape." Mark paused, again lost in thought. "Anyways", he finally continued. "I hope to have an idea of at least which cemetery she's in by the time I…I, huh, still want to be cremated and want my ashes mailed to the cemetery in New Jersey so they can be spread, I hope near my mother. I've been looking into, again, the costs for cremation and mailing and such…man has pricing gone up…anyways, like I said, I still plan on adding to it, just to make sure the postage doesn't go through the roof." While talking he had again lowered his head, again playing with the string on his sweatpants, pulling more of the string free and wrapping it around his finger. Looking back up, he added, "If by chance there's anything left over-just donate it, along with my stuff, to some charity…anonymously."

"Okay kid…I get it." Hardcastle told him, needing to end this for both their sakes.

And the timing couldn't have been better when he heard Sarah coming down the hall. "Your Honor, Mark." She stated at the top of the steps. "Dinner is ready."

' _Thank you Sarah.'_ Hardcastle cheered in his head, immediately getting up to help Mark if he needed it.

As they made their way to the dining room, Sarah rattled off the menu…looks like it's a leftover night of all of 'Mark's favorites'.

 _ **The End**_ ( _hope you enjoyed…_ )

 _ **Author's note cont.…**_ if you read CODY, then you know about that part of the story with the soap. My next story will explain more.


End file.
